


Kraft Singles and Graham Crackers

by hannasus



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannasus/pseuds/hannasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of miscellaneous Tumblr prompt fills. Mostly Olicity, unless otherwise marked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Hair Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Just leave me ALONE.” Oliver/Felicity (dialogue-only), submitted by machaswicket.

“Just leave me ALONE.”

“Felicity, come on.”

“Go away, Oliver.”

“Please open the door.”

“Nope.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it is. Believe me. It is _that bad._ ”

“Show me.”

“Not happening.”

“So … what? You’re gonna stay in the bathroom forever?”

“That’s the plan, yeah.”

“You do see the flaw in that plan, right?”

“Nope. No flaws in that plan. Sounds like a great plan to me.”

“And how are you going to eat?”

“You can slide food under the door. Flat food. Like Kraft Singles. And graham crackers.”

“Kraft Singles and graham crackers? That’s what you’re going to eat from now on. While living in a hotel bathroom?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, seriously, Felicity. You need to open the door. Enough joking around, okay?”

“Who’s joking?”

“You know I’ll love you no matter what you look like, right?”

“You haven’t seen me like this.”

“No matter what it looks like, I’ll still think you’re beautiful. Now open the door. I’m going to count to three, and then I’m breaking it down.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“Oliver—”

“One … two … three—oh.”

“It’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen, right?”

“No, definitely not the _worst_ thing.”

“Don’t you dare laugh, Oliver Queen!”

“No, hey, I like green. It’s my favorite color, remember?”

“It’s hideous. I look like the Joker.”

“Well—”

“Oliver!”

“I’m sorry! I love you. You’re beautiful—green hair and all.”

“This is your fault, you know.”

“How is this my fault?”

“Come with me, you said. Let’s go away together, you said. Someplace far away from Starling. And far away from my colorist! This is what I get for trying to touch up my blonde myself. Green hair, Oliver!”


	2. Cardio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t breathe!” Oliver/Felicity (dialogue-only), submitted by jennonthewire.

“I can’t breathe!”

“If you’re talking, you’re not working hard enough.”

“I hate this, Oliver, I quit.”

“Fifteen more seconds.”

“What?! It feels like I’ve been doing this forever. How can I still have fifteen seconds left?”

“Put your hips into it, Felicity.”

“I am putting my hips into it!”

“Come on, you can hit harder than that.”

“I can’t … feel … my arms.”

“You’re doing great.”

“Dying … actual dying.”

“Time.”

“Ohthankgod.”

“Good job, sweetie.”

“That was literally the worst.”

“And yet, you survived.”

“Barely.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Help me, I’m trapped. Get these gloves off of me.”

“Hold still, you big baby … there, you’re free.”

“Let’s never do that again.”

“It was your idea.”

“I didn’t realize it’d suck so much. It looks easier when you’re doing it.”

“It’s not. But high-intensity interval training is good for improving aerobic conditioning.”

“Screw aerobic conditioning. Who needs it, anyway?”

“I do. For fighting, running, and … other athletic endeavors.”

“Like archery?”

“Not archery so much, but it does come in handy for extended sex marathons—like last night, for instance.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Gimme the gloves.”

“What?”

“Give me those gloves. I’m going again.”


	3. Police Misconduct (SmoakNLance)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mama Smoak & Captain Lance: "I'm here to report a problem." Submitted by fiacresgirl.

Donna Smoak casts her eyes around the police precinct bullpen like a woman on a mission. Which is exactly what she is.

When she spots her target her eyes narrow and she marches determinedly towards him. “I’m here to report a problem,” she announces, standing in front of Captain Lance’s desk with her hands on her hips.

He looks up and does a satisfying sort of double-take when he sees her. “Donna! Is everything okay?”

“No, everything is _not_ okay, Quentin. It’s been three days since I gave you my phone number I still haven’t heard a peep from you! Not a single text or phone call!”

“Uhhhh …” He glances around nervously. “Is that why you came down here?” he asks in a low voice. “Because I haven’t called you yet?”

“Three days, Quentin!”

He runs a hand over the top of his head. “Yeah, okay, I probably should have called before now—”

“ _Probably?_ ”

“Definitely. I definitely should have called you before now.”

She crosses her arms, because she knows it shows off her terrific rack and she wants him to get an eyeful of exactly what he’s missing. “I don’t give my number to just anyone, you know. And you’re the one who asked for it. It’s not like I forced myself on you.”

“No,” he says, smirking slightly. “You’re absolutely right, I asked.”

“ _Why_ did you ask, if you weren’t planning on calling me?”

“The truth is …” He pauses long enough to scowl a little. “The truth is, I was planning to ask you out on a date, but I wanted it to be perfect, you know? And I haven’t been able to think of anyplace special enough yet.”

“Oh,” Donna says, frowning. “Well, that’s stupid.”

Quentin’s mouth falls open. “Did you just say _stupid?_ ”

“Yes. Because I can’t believe you’re wasting time trying to come up with some mythical perfect date location, when you should know that it’s not where you go that makes a date special, it’s who you’re with. We could go to Big Belly Burger, for all I care, as long as I’m with you.”

He leans back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. Donna waits, arms still crossed to show off her boobs, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Donna,” he says finally, “would you care to go to Big Belly Burger with me tonight after I get off my shift?”

“Yes!” she huffs impatiently. “Sheesh! I thought you’d never ask.”


	4. Bed Bath & Beyond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oliver & Felicity: "What about that one over there?" Submitted by flailykermit.

Love of her life be damned, Felicity is approximately five seconds away from throttling Oliver with her bare hands.

They’ve been standing in the middle of Bed Bath & Beyond deliberating over this one stupid decision for at least an hour. And they aren’t even close to coming to any sort of agreement. Everything she likes, he hates—and everything he likes displays a genuinely disturbing lack of taste that is kind of a major turn-off. Thank god he’s hot, is all she has to say.

After everything they’ve survived together, who would have thought picking out a simple duvet set would be the insurmountable challenge that drives their relationship to the breaking point?

Felicity sighs and points at another display. “What about that one over there?” She doesn’t even like it, particularly, but it’s better than the red-on-black geometric nightmare that Oliver’s campaigning for.

Oliver makes a face. “Purple?”

“What’s wrong with purple?” And okay, she’s maybe getting a little snappish. She’s only got so much patience for duvet shopping.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s kind of girly, isn’t it?”

Oh, _hell no._

“Girly?” Felicity says icily, turning to glare at him. “Did you seriously just use my gender as a pejorative?”

Oliver at least has the decency to look appropriately alarmed. “No, I definitely did not do that. That’s not what I—”

“And _by the way,_ ” Felicity says, cutting him off, “the entire concept of assigning colors to genders is a patriarchal social construct that devalues femininity while creating a culture of toxic masculinity that forces damaging expectations onto men.”

By then, Oliver’s face is as white as the 400-count Egyptian cotton sheets in their shopping cart. “I didn’t mean—that is to say—I think—what I was trying to say—”

“Hmmmm?” Felicity prompts, lips pursed.  

“Let’s get the purple,” Oliver says desperately. “I love purple. We can paint the whole bedroom purple if you want. The whole house, even.”

“Actually,” Felicity says, “I like the blue one better.”

Oliver lets out a breath. “Whatever you want. Just please don’t yell at me about the patriarchy anymore.”

Felicity stands up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re contrite. Now for the towels …”


	5. Girlfriend Jewelry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olicity: "But you let Ray buy you all kinds of stuff!" Prompted by the lovely telaryn.

Felicity may have squealed a little bit when Oliver presented her with the small, flat box wrapped in brightly-colored paper and tied up with a ribbon. He’d never given her a gift before, and the fact that this one was totally out of the blue, for no apparent occasion, made it all the more exciting.

She untied the bow and tore at the paper—and then sucked in a sharp breath when she saw the jeweler’s name engraved on the box.

“Oliver,” she breathed.

“Open it,” he urged, beaming at her.

She lifted the lid with trembling fingers. Inside, nestled in the black velvet lining, was a pair of earrings. _Diamond_ earrings. Like, _a lot_ of diamonds. They must have cost—she couldn’t even imagine how much they must have cost because every time she tried her brain started to short circuit.

Felicity slammed the lid shut and shoved the box at Oliver. “You have to take them back, I can’t accept these.”

His face fell as his hand closed reflexively around the box. “But—”

“No. I’m sorry, but are you kidding? There’s no way I can keep these, you have to take them back. I can’t believe you’d even—”

“Give my girlfriend jewelry?” he finished for her sharply. He was hurt, and she felt bad about that, but seriously, what did he expect? She couldn’t even imagine what he was thinking giving her a gift like this.

She realized she was gnawing on her thumbnail and stopped, rubbing her hand on her jeans instead. “I don’t need jewelry, Oliver.”

“I know you don’t _need_ it,” he shot back. His eyes closed briefly and he took a breath before continuing, more gently: “I want you to have beautiful things, Felicity. And I want to be the one to give them to you.”

She gave him a smile full of genuine gratitude, because it wasn’t that she was _unappreciative_. “It’s a very sweet thought—the sweetest, honestly. But you can’t afford this.”

He huffed indignantly. “I’m not completely broke, you know. I’ve got some money put away—”

“That’s your safety net, you’re not supposed to be spending it frivolously on _me._ It’s strictly for In Case of Emergency Break Glass situations, which _this_ —” She gestured at the jewelry box in his hand. “—certainly does not qualify as.”

“But you let Ray buy you all kinds of stuff!”

Her mouth fell open, because _seriously?_ And yet, on the other hand, _of course._ “That was—is that what this is about? Because that was completely different.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Because he had more money than me?”

“For one thing, yes,” she said, and then felt a twinge of guilt at the look that passed across his face. “The things Ray bought me—they were nothing to him. But this …” She gestured at the box again. “This is most definitely not nothing.”

“That’s sort of the point,” he said, low and earnest, and there was just something about his voice when it got like that. It made her all melty inside.

“Oliver,” she sighed, reaching for his free hand.  “Sometimes you can be so … completely clueless.”

He blinked at her slowly, like an owl. “What?”

“Do you really not know what the difference is between you and Ray?” she asked, rubbing circles in the palm of his hand with her thumb.

His face twisted wryly. “Well, I’m not in danger of being trampled by a mouse, for one thing.”

She dropped his hand like it was on fire. “Oliver Jonas Queen!”

At least he had the sense to look shamefaced. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Still too soon, I guess.”

Felicity closed her eyes and took a deep breath, counting down from three, because she clearly needed to say this to him, which meant she needed to say it right, without babbling or getting distracted and wandering off the point.

“Why do you think Ray bought me those things?” she asked slowly.

Oliver made a face like he’d just smelled something rotten. “To impress you with how much money he had.”

“Exactly!” she agreed, throwing up her hands.

He stared at her, his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out if he’d walked into some kind of trap.

Felicity sighed. “He was trying to _buy_ my admiration because he hadn’t known me long enough to _earn_ it.”

“Okay,” he said warily.

“But Oliver, you don’t have to do that, because you _earned_ my admiration years ago. And you did it the hard way, without using your money—you did it all on your own, through your actions and your words. So I don’t want you to waste what’s left of your savings buying me expensive jewelry, because: _number one,_ I love you too much to let you do something that stupid—” Oliver’s mouth opened but she barreled on before he could protest. “—and _number two,_ I already have everything I could possibly want because I have _you._ Next to that, jewelry is nothing.”

He licked his lips. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she said. “So do you get it now?”

“I think so.”

“And you’ll take those earrings back? Because as beautiful as they are, and as much as I love you for wanting to give them to me, you understand why I don’t want them, right?”

He nodded, tucking the box into his pocket. “I’ll return them tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” She threw herself into his arms and closed her eyes, nuzzling into his chest. God, she loved him, even when he was clueless. _Especially_ when he was clueless, maybe.

Oliver’s arms tightened around her and he dropped a kiss into her hair. “But, Felicity …” He pulled away just enough to tilt her face up to his, and he was doing that thing where he smiled at her with just his eyes, which made her all melty all over again. “Just so we’re clear,” he said, his expression deadly serious, “there’s going to be a day when I try to give you another piece of expensive jewelry. And when I offer you _that one,_ I really … _really_ hope you don’t turn it down.”

All the breath left Felicity’s lungs in a rush, and it was a good thing one of his arms was still wrapped around her because her legs were in serious danger of failing her. “Oh,” she managed weakly, more of a squeak than an actual word.

“Yeah.” He smiled, soft and sweet and just the teensiest bit smug. “I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s—yeah. That’s—wow.” She nodded vigorously, because she couldn’t seem to get the words to do what she wanted. “Definitely … okay. _So_ okay. It’s—”

Oliver cut her off with a kiss. And that was okay, too. More than okay. A _lot_ more.


	6. Frat Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olicity: "Holy Crap! I met you, back in college at a friend's party -- back when I was a frat boy and you were.... goth." Prompt submitted by fangirl-logic.

“Ignore the mess,” Felicity told Oliver, tossing her keys into the dish by the front door.

“Are you moving?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the open boxes and piles of clutter scattered around her living room.

“No, I’m just going through some old stuff, trying to declutter my life.” Felicity leaned into the refrigerator and retrieved two beers. “Although so far all I’ve managed to do is dramatically _increase_ the clutter my life.” She opened both bottles and wandered back into the living room, passing one of them to Oliver.

He accepted it with a nod of thanks.

Felicity set her beer on the coffee table and grabbed onto Oliver’s arm to steady herself while she slipped out of her heels. “I was thinking tonight we’d start on the fiduciary duties of corporate officers.”

He nodded absently, his attention caught by a photograph that was sitting on top of a stack of old college papers. “Is this you?” he asked, leaning down for a better.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s me back in college. I wasn’t always a cog in the corporate machine, you know.”

He picked it up at and peered at him more closely. “Holy shit.”

“It’s not _that_ bad!” she said, grabbing for photo.

Oliver deftly dodged her, refusing to release the photo. “No, but … I met you, back in college at a friend’s party—back when I was a frat boy and you were …  goth, apparently.”

She snorted. “What? No you didn’t.”

“I’m telling you, Felicity—I’d recognize those purple streaks anywhere.” As unbelievable as it was, he actually seemed … completely serious.

“Oliver, I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I’d met you before.”

He shook his head, using the photograph as a pointer. “It was at a red duplex in Watertown, right before summer break. You were standing alone by the back door, and I walked up to you and said, ‘Pardon me, but my friend over there would like your phone number. He wants to know where he can get a hold of me in the morning.’”

Her mouth fell open, because she _remembered_ that awful pickup line. “Oh my god!”

“And you said—”

“‘Congratulations, my vagina has literally never been this dry.’” She remembered it perfectly. She just didn’t remember that it was Oliver. To be fair, his hair was _a lot_ douchier back then.

He smirked. “And then you threw your drink in my face.”

“Because you put your hand on my arm!”

“I didn’t say I didn’t deserve it.”

“I can’t believe that was you!”

“That was me,” he said, grinning. “And I’ll tell you what, I never used that line on a woman again.”

“Well, good. Because seriously? Worst pickup line _ever._ ”

He laughed. “I know.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “I never would have guessed you were into goths.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, tilting his head. “There was just something about you. I guess I’m just drawn to you, no matter what color your hair is.”

Felicity felt herself redden. The way he was looking at her all of sudden was too much. She didn’t know what to do with it.

She turned away, busying herself by flipping open her laptop and setting it on the dining table. “We should probably get to work, we’ve got a lot to cover tonight,” she said briskly. Even with her back turned, she could feel Oliver’s eyes on her.

“Sure,” he said, oddly quiet. “Whatever you say, Felicity.”


	7. Personal Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Wipe that smirk off your face." Oliver/Felicity (dialogue only), submitted by jedichick04.

“Wipe that smirk off your face.”

“What smirk?”

“That smirk! Right there, on your stupid, handsome face.”

“Four times, though. I told you I could do it.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s unattractive to gloat?”

“I get to pick where we order lunch for the rest of the week.”

“Yes, fine, you won the bet.”

“I’d say you’re the real winner.”

“That’s true.”

“Four’s a record for us.”

“If you say so. I prefer not to quantify our lovemaking—hang on, a record for us?”

“Yeah?”

“Does that mean you’ve been with a woman who’s had more than four?”

“Um …”

“How many?”

“I don’t—”

“How many, Oliver?”

“Six?”

“Six!”

“I mean, yeah, if you want to get technical about it.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. Stamina?”

“I have stamina! I have stamina out the wazoo!”

“You know it’s not—it doesn’t mean anything, Felicity, it’s just a stupid number.”

“Sure, that’s why you keep score.”

“You know I love you the most.”

“Who was it?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Does that mean it’s someone I know?”

“No way, I’m not playing this game.”

“Was it Laurel?”

“No!”

“Sara?”

“Come on, Felicity—”

“That doesn’t sound like a denial.”

“I’m not telling you who it was because it’s disrespectful to talk about the women I’ve been with. You wouldn’t want one of your exes talking about you, would you?”

“It wasn’t Helena was it?”

“Felicity.”

“Just tell me it wasn’t Helena.”

“It wasn’t Helena. Now will you please drop it?”

“Fine.”

“You’re the only woman who matters to me.”

“Six, though. I mean, that just seems physically impossible.”

“I could get you there.”

“Are you proposing another bet?”

“How about this: if I give you six orgasms, you have do the dishes every night for the next month.”

“Okay, but not right now, though, right? Because I’m already tired and I’ve got a lot of meetings tomorrow and—”

“Not right now. I’ll let you rest up before we try to break our current record.”

“In that case, you’re on.”

“How’s tomorrow night look for you?”

“Tomorrow night’s good.”

“It’s a date. I’ll make a light dinner. Nothing too filling or heavy that’ll inhibit our exertions.”

“Whatever you say, coach.”


	8. Dance Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fine. I’ll do it.” Oliver/Felicity (dialogue only), submitted by machaswicket.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

“You know how I feel about dancing, Felicity.”

“It’s our wedding! Don’t you want to dance with me at our wedding?”

“Of course I do—just not with all those other people watching us.”

“That’s why we need lessons. So you won’t have to be self-conscious about your dancing.”

“I’m not—there’s nothing wrong with my dancing.”

“Oliver.”

“I can dance! I just don’t like dancing.”

“My bruised toes beg to differ.”

“That was one time and it only happened because I was distracted.”

“By the music.”

“It’s hard to remember the right steps and do them in time with the music, okay?”

“You have no rhythm.”

“I happen to be extremely light on my feet!”

“Oliver. Beloved. You may be able to parkour your way across rooftops, but you cannot dance.”

“Can’t we just skip the dancing part of the reception?”

“No, we can’t. I want to dance with my new husband in front of our friends and family, and I want to do it without getting any broken bones in my feet.”

“Fine. I’ll go to one lesson.”

“I signed us up for a course of ten.”

“Ten!”

“You need a lot of practice, Oliver.”

“Can’t we just practice at home?”

“Oh, we’ll be practicing at home, too, don’t worry. Every night until the wedding—or until you can waltz without looking at your feet. Whichever comes first.”

“Felicity—”

“No arguments, buster. You’re the one who proposed to me, remember?”

“If I’d known there’d be a dancing requirement or I might not have—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Oliver Queen!”

“I’m kidding!”

“You are such a baby sometimes, I swear.”

“You mean like you with pull-ups?”

“Pull-ups are stupid! And really hard! I just don’t see what the point of them is, is all.”

“In case you end up dangling off of something and have to pull yourself back up.”

“Yeah, but what are the odds of that happening?”

“It literally happened last month. If Dig hadn’t been there to haul you back up you would have fallen.”

“Okay, but what are the chances of it ever happening again?”

“Felicity.”

“Fine. I’ll work on pull-ups if you take dancing lessons with me. Deal?”

“Deal.”


	9. Cakeageddon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “This isn’t what it looks like.” Oliver/Felicity (dialogue only), submitted by fanmommer.

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It looks like you’re eating an entire chocolate cake for dinner.”

“Okay, yes, technically, that is what I’m doing. But I bought the cake for the two of us share for dessert, only then you didn’t come home for dinner—”

“There was an armored car hijacking.”

“I know, it was important, I don’t mind that you missed dinner. It’s just I was sitting here by myself, trying to decide where to order food from, and the cake was just sitting there. Staring at me. And the next thing I knew I was reaching for a fork and … well, cakeageddon happened.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Felicity.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“You’re eating an entire chocolate cake by yourself. It’s not nothing.”

“Just something stupid at work. I shouldn’t let it get to me like this.”

“Let what get to you?”

“If you’re gonna get all growly and alpha male, Oliver, I’m not going to tell you.”

“Sorry.”

“The director of human resources suggested I was being too emotional when I accused him of intentionally dragging his feet on my diversity initiative.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“The last thing I need is my boyfriend intervening on my behalf at work, thanks.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a backrub.”

“Oh! Yes, please.”

“How’s that?”

“Mmmm perfect.”

“So what’d you do about it?”

“Nothing. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight, much less formulate a coherent retort. Which means he was probably right—I was too emotional.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being emotional. It just means you’re passionate about your work. That’s a good thing.”

“Ooooh, a little lower.”

“There?”

“That’s the stuff.”

“You’ve turned that company around, Felicity. You’re an incredible CEO and they’re lucky to have you. Don’t let anyone make you doubt yourself.”

“You’re really good at this.”

“Backrubs?”

“Boosting my confidence.”

“It’s my job. Or one of them, anyway. I’m more than willing put the fear of god into that HR director if you want, though.”

“Your offer is noted and appreciated, but I’m going to pass this time.”

“Probably a wise choice.”

“Mmmm.”


	10. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Will you just sit down, please?" Oliver/Felicity (dialogue only), submitted by whatcuriousthings.

“Will you just sit down, please?”

“I can’t. I literally can’t right now. I’m pretty sure if I stop pacing I’ll start crying, and pacing is definitely preferably to crying.”

“I’m sorry, Felicity.”

“Yeah, you said that already. A couple of times, actually.”

“Because I need you to know it’s true.”

“Okay, but that still doesn’t explain how you could do it in the first place.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course you did! You always have a choice. And since when do you meekly cave to threats, anyway?”

“It’s the only way she’d let me see my son.”

“She doesn’t get to do that, Oliver! You have legal rights, and she doesn’t get to decide who you can and can’t tell about the existence of your own son. Which you would know if you’d bothered to consult an attorney.”

“I was scared, the whole situation was such a shock, I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“How would she have even known if you had told me? Did you think I wouldn’t be able to keep a secret?”

“No, of course not.”

“But you still chose to be honest with her and to lie to me.”

“It wasn’t like that.

“What was it like, then?”

“I don’t know—different? I swear, I never meant to hurt you, Felicity.”

“But you did hurt me. Don’t you get it? You have a _son,_ Oliver, and instead of wanting to share what’s maybe the most important news of your life with me, you chose to lie to me about it.”

“I wanted to share it with you, more than anything.”

“But you didn’t. You lied.”

“If I could go back and make a different choice I would.”

“Would you? I’m not so sure.”

“Tell me what I can do to make this right.”

“I don’t know if you can. I don’t how we’re supposed to go on from here.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re not the partners I thought we were. And I need to figure out if I can live with that.”

“You mean you need to figure out if you can live with me.”

“Yes.”

“Felicity—”

“Don’t—don’t touch me.”

“Please, Felicity. Don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

“I just—I can barely even look at you right now. I need space, and I need time to think.”

“Okay, whatever you want. You’re coming back though, right?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Felicity?”

“Goodbye, Oliver.”


	11. Panic Squares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity has a panic attack, and Oliver knows just what to do. (Pre-5x01)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr ask box prompt - Oliver & Felicity: “It’s okay. You’re okay.” Submitted by geneeste.
> 
> Warnings for PTSD and panic attacks.

The bo staff slid down the wall and hit the floor with a jarring _crack_ that echoed through the silence of the lair, provoking a startled yelp from Felicity.

Oliver cursed under his breath and stooped to retrieve it. “Sorry,” he muttered as he returned it to its rightful place.

When Felicity didn’t say anything, he glanced toward the workstation where she was sitting. She was white as a ghost, every muscle taut with fear as her hands clenched the arms of her chair.

“Felicity?” he said, walking toward her.

She jumped when his hand landed on her shoulder.

“Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He crouched beside her, looking up into her face. 

Tears pooled in her eyes, which were wide and panicked, and her breath was coming in short, jerky gasps. 

Oliver wanted to reach for her, but stifled the urge, settling instead for grabbing onto the edge of the desk. “I just knocked over the bo staff, that’s all. Everything’s fine. You’re safe.”

She shook her head, one hand coming up to flutter against her chest. “Can’t … breathe,” she wheezed. Her face was turning red now, with the strain of her labored pants.

Oliver reached for the other chair and sat down so they were sitting knees-to-knees. “Look at my hand,” he said, holding it above her lap wiggling his fingers. “I’m going to draw a square on your leg, and I want you to focus on that and try to breathe when I tell you to breathe, okay?”

She furrowed her brow at him, her chest still hitching. After a second she jerked a nod.

“Okay, here we go. Just keep concentrating on my finger, and on your breathing.” Oliver touched the top of her thigh with his index finger. “Breathe in.” He moved his finger in a short, straight line, keeping the pressure firm and steady, and Felicity sucked in a breath. “Good. Now hold it.” He moved his finger a little bit to the left. “Breathe out now.” His finger moved toward her a few inches, and she pursed her lips, exhaling. “Now hold,” he said as he closed the small square. “That’s good. We’re going to do it again.”

He drew another square, a little bigger this time, cueing her breathing for her with each movement, keeping his voice calm and reassuring. And then he drew another square, and another, each one larger than the last. He kept doing it, moving his finger on her leg in a regular, repetitive pattern, growing the square a little each time to gradually slow down her breathing, until finally she was taking long steady breaths on her own.

“You good?” Oliver asked, looking up at her.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice still a little shaky. She reached up under her glasses and wiped her eyes. “Yeah, I think so.”

He rested his palm flat on the top of her thigh for a second, just long enough to reassure himself that she was really okay. When he started to pull his hand away, she caught it in hers. 

He twined his calloused fingers with her small delicate ones, and she let him.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He didn’t need her to thank him, but then she knew that.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said, staring at their hands.

“Yes, you do,” Oliver said.

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head.

“Has this ever happened before?” he asked.

“Once,” she admitted. He felt her hand tremble in his. “I was in a parking garage, walking to my car.”

He wanted to pull her into his arms, but didn’t think that was what she wanted from him. He didn’t think he had the right anymore. So instead he nodded and squeezed her hand gently. “Have you talked to anyone about it? Seen a doctor?”

She huffed out a bitter laugh. “And say what? I’ve been having panic attacks because of my work helping the Green Arrow?”

“Yes,” he told her. “That’s exactly what you say.”

She looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. “Oliver, you know I can’t.”

He rubbed his thumb in the palm of her hand, making tiny circles. “Yes, you can. Anything you say is protected. You know that.”

She shook her head. Wiped her eyes again with her free hand. “I can’t tell them about Havenrock,” she said in voice so small it made his chest ache.

“Why not?”

She pulled her hand out of his. “Because it’s too awful.”

“Felicity—”

“I’m tired, Oliver, can we not talk about this now?” She leaned back in her chair and pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead.

“Fine,” he conceded, watching her. “But we are going to talk about it. Soon.”

She dropped her hands to her lap and rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait.”

He stood up. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

She spun her chair around, back to the monitors, turning her back on him. “Actually, I’d rather stay. I’ve still got some work I want to finish.”

He knew that work calmed her sometimes, so he didn’t argue. “Okay. Just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

She nodded and reached for her keyboard.

“Felicity?”

“Hmm?” she said, fingers already flying over the keys. Her attention on her screen and not on him.

“You can’t just pretend there’s nothing wrong and hope it goes away on its own.”

She stopped typing and looked up at him over her shoulder. “Why not? That’s what you did.”

Sorrow twisted in his gut, burning its way up into his chest. “You deserve better than me.”

“No,” she said, her voice flat and desolate. “I don’t.”

She went back to her work, and Oliver let her.


	12. Sutures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity patches Oliver's wounds, in more way than one. (Pre-5x01)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr ask box prompt - Oliver/Felicity: "You're bleeding.” Submitted by veronicaslieutenant.

Felicity looks up when he walks in. “You’re bleeding.”

“Turns out he had a knife in his boot,” Oliver says, struggling with the jacket of his Arrow suit.

He should have been ready for it, but he wasn’t at the top of his game tonight. It’s harder than he thought it would be, juggling his City Hall obligations during the day and his Arrow activities at night. He let himself get sloppy tonight and paid the price.

Felicity watches him, biting her lip like she’s trying not to say something. After a moment she comes over and helps him maneuver his injured arm out of the sleeve.

He tries not to flinch when her fingers brush across his skin. Tries not to let her see how much her touch affects him. How it leaves searing brands on the surface of his skin that burn with disappointment.

“You need to be more careful,” she says, moving to the cabinet where they keep the medical supplies.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He sinks onto the med table and peers over his shoulder at the slash he took to his triceps. It’s deeper than he thought, and there’s blood running down his arm.

“You’re the mayor now,” she says as she prepares a tray with gauze, antiseptic, and a suture kit. “How are you going to explain it if you get an injury you can’t hide under a dress shirt?”

“I don’t know, Felicity.” It comes out sharper than he intends, and he immediately regrets it. He’s not angry at her, he’s angry at himself. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s okay.” She brings the tray with the medical supplies over and reaches for his arm. “Let me see.”

He leans away from her. “I can do it.”

“Oliver, you can barely even reach it, much less see it.”

“I’ll manage.” He has no idea how, just that he doesn’t want her to do it. For the one-millionth time this month, he wishes he’d been able to convince John not to leave.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says irritably. “Let me do it for you.”

He shakes his head. “I know you never liked this part, even when we were—” The words die in his mouth, and he swallows down the residue of bitterness. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me if it’s hard for you.”

She gazes at him levelly. “We’re still partners. That part hasn’t changed.”

Reluctantly, he surrenders his arm. His eyes water when she touches him, and he blinks and looks away. It’s the first time he’s had an injury he needed help with since John quit the team. The first time he’s needed her to tend his wounds since she left him.

“I think we need to revisit the idea of long sleeves,” she says as she cleans the gash on his arm. “This wouldn’t have been nearly as deep if you had a layer of protection on your arms.”

She turns her head to reach for the topical anesthetic, and her ponytail brushes against his shoulder. He can’t help turning his face toward it. She hasn’t been this close to him in a long time, and the nearness of her is like a drug. That’s why he keeps such a careful distance between them, because he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop after just one hit. He won’t be able to pretend that he doesn’t still ache for her every second of every day.

She turns back to him, suture needle in hand, and tips her head down for a closer look. He breathes in slowly through his nose, inhaling the scent of her. She’s started using a new shampoo. Her hair used to smell like coconuts, but now it smells like roses, and it makes him feel dizzy and disoriented.

Oliver forces himself to turn his head away. Stares straight ahead, concentrating on the pattern of the screen saver on the monitor across the room. Hoping the soothing repetitiveness of it will distract him from the pounding of his pulse.

“Does that hurt?” Felicity asks when she starts the first stitch.

He shakes his head, grinding his teeth together hard enough to make his jaw ache. The pain of the suture needle is nothing compared to the pain of having her so close and yet still out of his reach.

She glances up at him, and then back down. “It’s not hard for me.”

“What?”

“Taking care of you. It’s not hard for me.”

A knot forms in the back of his throat. He can barely swallow around it, or breathe.

“Is this hard for you?” she asks.

“Yes,” he answers without looking at her. It’s the most honest thing he’s said to her since she gave him back his ring the second and final time.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not ungently. “I’ll try to make it fast.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he tells her. “You never have to be sorry.”

“Well I am, regardless. I wish John was still here to do this, but he’s not, so we’ll just have to muddle through on our own.”

Oliver nods.

“Anyway,” Felicity says, adopting a lighter tone. “You’ve got a higher profile now, we need to take extra precautions. I’ll talk to Cisco about making some improvements to the suit.”

“Probably a good idea,” Oliver concedes.

“I know he was in love with the aesthetics of the cap sleeves, but he’s going to have to listen to reason. Besides, you always get cold anyway.”

“I don’t get cold,” he says defensively.

When he looks at her, she’s smiling. “Yes,” she says. “You do.”

He manages a faint smile in return. “Maybe a little.”

She reaches for the scissors and snips the ends off the last stitch. “All done. See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Not so bad, no.” He twists around to inspect her handiwork. “It looks good.”

She smiles proudly. “For someone who can’t stand the sight of blood, I think I’ve gotten pretty good at stitches. It might not even leave much of a scar, if you take it easy.”

“Probably not much chance of that,” he says, testing his range of motion. It’s not great, but he should be able to muddle through at the office tomorrow without being obvious about it.

“No I suppose not,” she says with a sigh.

“I’ll try,” he promises her. It’s the best he can do, and she knows it.

When he hops off the table, she lays her hand on his forearm to stop him. “Oliver.”

His eyes find hers, and she gazes back at him with an intensity that takes his breath away.

God, he wants to kiss her so badly. He wonders what she would do if he tried. Would she let him? Or would she pull away? It would be so easy to find out. All he has to do is cup her face in his hands and draw her mouth to his.

“Felicity?” he prompts, his voice unsteady.

Her hand moves up his arm, her fingers soft and warm as they skim a path over his skin. It’s almost too much to endure. He’s trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

She pauses at the freshly applied bandage, fingertips dancing lightly over the edges. “Taking care of you is easy for me,” she says. “It always has been. It’s letting you go that’s the hard part.”

He’s afraid that anything he says will be wrong, so instead of speaking, he covers her hand with his and moves it to his chest, holding it against his heart.

Felicity looks at him with eyes that are wide and vulnerable, and the weight of it settles in his chest, expanding to fill up the empty space behind his breastbone.

She blinks, and then her lips are parting and she’s leaning toward him. Oliver holds himself still, waiting for her to close the distance between them. He won’t force himself on her. It has to be what she wants.

Her lips brush against his, just the lightest of kisses. There and then gone again. “I’ll always love you,” she murmurs. “That will never change.”

The _but_ hanging in the air between them is unmistakable, a tangible presence even before Oliver gives voice to it: “But you still don’t want to be with me.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’m very good for you. I don’t think we’re good for each other.”

She’s wrong. She’s _so_ wrong, but he doesn’t bother arguing. She’s not ready hear him out yet. But maybe, just maybe, there’s still room to convince her. In the future. On another night—maybe tomorrow, or maybe in a week or a month. He still has a chance. He hasn’t lost her completely.

She slips her hand out of his and steps back, leaving him feeling suddenly chilled.

“I should—I’m going to go,” she says, moving toward her purse, grabbing it off the desk in a shaky hand.

He watches her walk toward the exit, away from him. Resists the urge to chase after her. She needs time, and he can wait. He’ll wait forever if she needs him to.

She pauses at the door to glance back at him. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes,” he tells her, and for the first time, it feels true. She’s given him something precious tonight, something he hasn’t in a long time.

She’s given him a reason to hope.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees.


	13. Just Another Wednesday (Mature)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Oliver/Felicity “Can you hear that?” submitted by Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several people requested a sequel to this ficlet, so I went ahead and wrote a continuation. You can read the whole thing in its entirety [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8471956).

“You know,” Felicity says as Oliver hikes her up higher on his hips. “If I’d known this was how today was going to go, I’d have worn better underwear.”

 _Well, shit,_ he thinks. He was planning to kiss her up against this wall for a while longer before venturing under her skirt, but now he’s not going to be able to wait to find out what she’s hiding under there.

Spinning around fast enough to make her squeal, Oliver carries her over to the conference table and plops her down with a thump. Felicity throws her head back, laughing, and the sound of it loosens something deep in his chest. It’s been far too long since he’s heard her laugh like that—unreserved and spontaneous and carefree. It’s been too long since he’s been _able_ to make her laugh like that.

She helpfully lifts her hips for him as he pushes her skirt up around her waist. When he gets to the promised land he grins, pausing to appreciate the sight. “I love your days of the week underwear,” he says, running his fingers over the word _Wednesday_ splashed across her pubic bone. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed them.”

She huffs in feigned indignation, her pink lips forming a pout. “You’ve missed my underwear? Really? _That’s_ what you’ve missed?”  

He locks eyes with her, one hand trailing up the inside of her thigh, and the other tracing the edge of her underwear. “I never said that’s all I’ve missed.”

He’s missed _everything_. Every inch of her, every second of every day. He’s missed her so much there were times he felt like he would suffocate from it. And now, by the grace of some miracle he’s afraid to examine too closely, she’s inviting him to touch her again, and he’s like a kid in a candy store, awed by the abundance of riches.

Oliver slides his hand under the elastic band and f _uck,_ she’s so wet already, like she’s been aching for him as much as he’s been aching for her. Felicity shudders and tips her head back even farther, exposing her throat to him as she grinds against his hand.

“Oh my god,” she sighs as he slips a finger inside her. “I’ve missed _this_.”

“This?” he says, adding a second finger. “Or this?” he asks as he drags his thumb across her clit.

She answers with an incoherent moan, and he lunges forward to bury his face in her neck. Her pulse flutters beneath his lips as he sucks hungrily at the delicate skin, not caring if he leaves a mark.

Her hands find his face, tilting his head up to hers. “I missed _you_ ,” she says, cheeks flushed, gazing at him with eyes that are dark with desire. It’s almost too much to bear, how much he loves her, how he never stood a chance without her.

“Felicity—” he starts, blinking hard, but she cuts him off with a kiss.

“Oliver,” she mumbles into his mouth, arching against him. “I’m going to need you to fuck me now. Like, right—” Her hands find their way to his belt buckle, tugging him closer. “—now.”

He has no idea what he did to deserve her, but he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His hands curl around her hips, yanking her to the edge of the table as she raises her legs for him, and he slides her underwear off, dropping them to the floor at his feet.

She has his belt undone by then, and she’s fumbling with the button of his pants, but it’s taking too long, so he helps her out. As soon as he’s got the zipper down she slips her hand into his underwear. The edges of his vision white out as she wraps her fingers around him, and he hears himself stutter her name.

He never thought he’d have this again, and he reaches up to touch her face, his fingertips caressing her cheekbone reverently as he brushes away a loose tendril of hair.

Felicity freezes suddenly, every muscle in her body tensing—including the hand wrapped around his dick. “Can you hear that?”

“What?” he says, but then he hears it, too. The sound of the elevator grinding into motion.

“Crap, it’s the team!” She pushes him off of her and hops down from the table.

“What are they doing here?” Oliver mutters, frantically fastening his pants.

She smooths down her skirt and then reaches up to fix her disheveled ponytail. “We _told_ them to meet us here, remember?”

No, he doesn’t remember. How can he be expected to remember something like that when Felicity’s hand was in his pants only moments ago?

“This is precisely why I didn’t want a team,” he grumbles, trying futilely to adjust his erection so it’s less painful—and less noticeable.

“Not it’s not.” She grabs his face and wipes the lipstick off his mouth. “You didn’t want a team because you don’t like change.”

“I’m firing them,” he says, wincing as she scrubs at his face. “Ow.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, you’re not.”

The elevator dings, and they jump apart. Just as the doors start to slide open, Oliver spots Felicity’s “Wednesday” underwear lying on the floor. Lightning quick, he scoops them up and shoves them deep in his pocket.

“Hi!” Felicity says cheerfully, stepping forward to greet the newbies as they emerge from the elevator.

“You’re all fired,” Oliver announces. “You can go home.”

“What the hell?” Rene says, stopping short.

Felicity turns around and punches Oliver in the arm. “He’s just kidding,” she says with a false, bright laugh. “You know what a kidder Oliver is.”

Curtis furrows his brow in bemusement. “Um …”

“I’m not kidding,” Oliver insists.

“Yes,” Felicity says, glaring daggers at him, “he is.”

“If y’all are busy, we could go,” Curtis offers helpfully, cementing his place as Oliver’s favorite of the new recruits.

“We’re not busy,” Felicity says. “I mean, _we’re_ not busy,” she clarifies, gesturing between her and Oliver. “We’re _all_ busy, because we have to do that thing tonight. All of us. Together.”

“What thing?” Oliver says, frowning at her. Whatever it is, he’s definitely canceling it.

“You know, that thing? With the shipment? The thing that’s time-sensitive and can’t be put off.”

Right. _Fuck._ One of their sources tipped them off that Church is planning to hijack a shipment of federal military equipment earmarked for the SCPD that’s coming in tonight. It’s actually kind of important.

“Fine,” he sighs. “Everyone suit up.”

“So we’re not fired?” Rory asks uncertainly.

“Of course you’re not fired,” Felicity assures him.

“Yet,” Oliver adds under his breath.

“You sure?” Evelyn asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Maybe you wanna argue about it for a while longer?”

“We’re sure,” Felicity says and shoos them toward their gear. “Now go. Suit up. We have work to do.”  

They go, muttering amongst themselves and casting wary looks behind them.

Oliver starts to trudge after them, but Felicity grabs him by the arm. “Not you.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, lifting an eyebrow as he turns back to her.

She holds her hand out. “I believe you have something that belongs to me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells her, poker-faced.

“My underwear,” she hisses. “Give it back.”

“No.”

“ _No?_ ”

“I’m keeping it as a downpayment. Until we finish conducting the very important business we started earlier.”

Her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Sorry, gotta go,” he says, winking at her as he backs away. “I have to do that thing, remember?”

“Oliver!” she calls after him. “I’m going to get you back for this!”

God, he hopes so.


End file.
